


Freedom & Choice

by scarletcougar



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From enemies to friends to something possibly more. Anders and Fenris find ways to free each other, though it is not without trials and pain. (I own nothing, but appreciate that David Gaider allows me to play in his Bioware Sandbox.) Rated M for mature concepts, violence, torture and other horrors.</p><p>Anders discovered the bloodmagic that chains Fenris from within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unraveling the Chains

Anders recalled the conversation. _Bethany had asked Fenris about the lyrium the magisters put in his skin, “Does it still hurt?” And Fenris had replied so softly, “You do not want to know the answer to that.”_ Also, every time Fenris seemed to use abilities related to the lyrium brands (for they could not be considered tattoos), the release of that power ripped an agonizing rage-filled scream from him.

Varric and Hawke set up camp while Anders washed Fenris’ wounds by the stream. “Fenris. Your lyrium brands react to the magic I cast on you in battle. Am I hurting you when I do it?”

“Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Any sudden or foreign magic hurts.”

“Foreign? So… Danarius’ magic on you or in you does not hurt?” He washed the rest of the blood and sand away from the wounds and looked carefully at them. Fenris refused to answer, simply looked away. “If the magic is not sudden, like when I heal you in camp, does it still hurt?” He slowly eased in his healing magic to carefully mend ribs and muscle and skin. “Am I hurting you?”

Fenris let out a soft sigh as the wounds sealed and the pain ebbed away. He did not want to admit to the possessed apostate that this gentle healing was the only relief he ever gets from his perpetual pain. “No, this… you are not hurting me.”

As Anders finished and drew his hands away, he saw the squint return to Fenris’ eyes. It was usually there and Anders concluded it was from the daily pain the elf seemed to endure. “Fenris. It bothers me that you hurt all the time.”

“It is not like you can do anything about it!” he spat in frustration.

Anders touched a scrape on Fenris’ shoulder and healed it, but allowed his healing to glide through the surface of Fenris’ whole body. At first, he worried the elf would hit him. The elf looked startled and wide-eyed at him. Usually Anders asked before doing something to Fenris regarding magic. “I’m just making sure I haven’t missed anything.” It was a hasty lie. Fenris seemed to accept it. He closed his eyes and within moments let out a desperately relieved sigh as his muscles relaxed and the ever-present pain was temporarily lifted. “Is this… okay?”

Fenris swallowed hard for he had no memory of being without this pain except while Danarius was controlling him like a puppet. And here, the pain was gone and he had complete freedom of his own body. He wanted to weep, but dared not, not in front of the apostate. When he felt Anders magic receding, the plea left his lips before he could swallow the words back, “Please, don’t stop.”

“I can’t keep this up forever. But tell you what, I know a Warden mage spell I have used in confusing battles. I can cast it upon you. It’s a sustained spell for healing. We’ll see if you can at least get a full night’s sleep pain free.”

It was the first time the elf had thanked him and the constant drain on his mana for this wild animal seemed worth it. Anders suddenly made a realization about the elven warrior. He was like a feral abused and injured cat. Patience, and comfort, and care… ease the anxiety and the pains and the fears… and there might just be a shy gentle kitten waiting to purr out its thanks.

Anders said nothing of what he had discovered or done for Fenris, but did volunteer to keep watch tonight. To sustain the spell, he needed to stay awake. Watching Fenris move about without the pain was like seeing a whole new elf. Fenris stood up straighter. He twitched less. He performed these long languid stretched like he has wanted to do them for years and could not. The mage watched Fenris sleep, a relaxed sleep, where the elf actually slept in through the breaking of camp the next morning and had to be prodded awake by Hawke.

By morning, Anders was too exhausted to keep up the spell and it fizzled out by the end of breakfast. The mage was practically a walking zombie on the way back towards Kirkwall. Hawke chastised him for staying awake ALL night. Fenris, fell in step at Anders side for a change, side glancing now and then to make sure Anders did not just fall over, catching the mage’s elbow every time he stumbled over everything on the path. Hawke threw a curious look their way, wondering what changed between the seeming enemies.

Over the next few months, Fenris would find his way to the clinic. If it was empty, he would enter and ask quietly for Anders to ease the pain for a while again. He started to even bring a bottle of wine with him to share in thanks, only to learn that Justice would not allow Anders to drink. Fenris changed to bringing Anders food since he had also discovered that Anders had a tendency to give his food away to the poor who came for healing, surviving on very little and only eating well when they went on missions with Hawke.

It was in these quiet moment of relief, that they would speak without snarls, without hate, without yelling their personal agendas at each other. It was in these quiet shared moments that Anders would ask Fenris questions, prodding bits of memory out of him. Fenris would recount what it was like to be controlled, the things Danarius would have him do, how it felt to have the lyrium poured into cuts made into his flesh. Fenris found himself opening up about his life and concerns to the man he despised.

Anders, for his part listened with exceptional patience. The healer in him bade he meet the elf’s need to be pain free and the elf’s need to talk to someone about what plagued his mind and soul. The mage in him sought to understand what had been done to Fenris, how the lyrium worked, why Fenris was in pain, how Danarius controlled him. Justice in him found a new mission, temporarily setting aside the one that bothered Anders soul so much. What had been done to Fenris was a grave injustice, something that needed to be made right.

“Fenris, I know why you hurt all the time.”

The elf shot Anders a flat cold look, “So do I. These vile brands in me do it.”

“Actually… no they don’t.” At the stunned look in those green eyes, Anders continued. “There is an entropic enchantment tied into the lyrium so the lyrium sustains it. It seems to be in place to leech in pain with a stopper only when a certain magical sequence interferes. What I keep doing for you is but a temporary bandage.” He licked his lips because what he thought he could do, what Justice thought he could do, would be invasive and Anders was not sure Fenris would allow it. “I think I can unravel Danarius’ magic in you. So the pain stops and so he can never take control of you again.”

Fenris pounced on Anders causing the mage to yelp as fists curled fiercely in the front of his coat, almost tearing the poor threading. “Do not tease or tempt me abomination!” He shoved Anders and fled the clinic.

“Ooh great! Just great!” Anders ranted in his empty clinic. “He doesn’t say ‘no’ to the demon in the Fade when we help Feynriel, but he says ‘no’ now. Stupid, stubborn, ass-backwards, barefoot, nug-brained, IDIOT!!”

It took another two months before Fenris came back to Anders. The mage smiled to himself. A snide remark dangled on the tip of his tongue. But, Fenris brought stew. And Anders was starving. They ate in complete silence. When Anders offered to do some healing, Fenris gave a short nod, and sighed in deep relief when the magic sank in to ease the burning in his nerves.

“Do you really think you can unravel Danarius’ magic?” asked Fenris.

“It was just a theory when I first suggested it. But I have been thinking about it since then. I really do. It won’t be easy and I will have to get in deep. And it might take a long while and will definitely drain me, even with Justice helping, if you will allow it.” He spoke the truth in plain facts, not cushioning it in any way as he would for some other patients. “It will likely hurt as bad as when you were first branded.”

Fenris stared into those amber eyes so long, that Anders thought the elf had dug into the dark crevices of his soul. Anders wanted to look away, to not have the coward he was deep down be seen by this warrior he admired. But he dared not. Fenris needed to be able to trust Anders if this was going to work at all.

“You are still an abomination. If you lie, I will kill you. I will even have Varric there to peg you with his crossbow if you try to take me over.”

Anders nodded and accepted. He was not afraid of Varric and did trust that if it got out of hand, well, he hoped Varric would peg him with a bolt. “I would never. I know all too well what it is like to be chained and not have any control of your own body. I would never inflict that upon anyone else.”

Fenris seemed satisfied by something he saw and heard. He had assumed Anders referred to the spirit within him as Anders had once frightened Merrill with such words. _“_ _It's like you're trapped in your own body, seeing out your eyes, while someone else moves you like a puppet. And you're trying to scream, to move a single muscle, but there's no escape. Until you look down at the blood on your hands.”_

Fenris stood. “My mansion. Tonight.”

“Tonight?! So… soon?” Anders had to get supplies and prepare mentally and … and… why was Fenris so unpredictable like this and like a demon pouncing out of the Fade?

“Yes tonight. My sister is on a boat on her way here. I suspect Danarius will be following.”

That put everything into a whole new perspective and left a billion unanswered questions. When had Fenris contacted his sister? How? Why was she coming here? How did he even know? Was he scared? That was an answerable question. Of course he was scared or he would not be insisting on this. If Danarius came, Fenris would be caught in a trap from which there was no escape, unless this theory of Anders’ actually worked.

“Alright. I will see you there.” Anders watched Fenris stride out with a fierce determination. To himself, to the empty room, to Justice, he said, “We are his only hope for freedom and choice.” He looked to the hidden floorboard where an ancient Tevinter spellbook hid, one with supplies and plans that were momentarily on hold. They were all prepared save for one final act that needed to be performed in the Chantry. But that could wait a few days. Justice was in accord with Anders regarding giving Fenris a chance at justice for Danarius’ cruelties.

At the mansion, Varric had been sworn to secrecy and begged to act if he must. Varric sat in a chair by the fireplace with Bianca at the ready. Fenris sat upon his bed wearing only his leggings and vest. When Anders arrived, a packpack jingling with the sound of potion bottles, Varric asked, “Hey, blondie. You think you can do this?”

“I have enough lyrium potions to kill the Arishok, a second time. So I will do this one way or another.” Anders meant it. Justice gave him that sure courage. Not the false bravado he used to have, but a confidence he never had.

Anders pulled over a small table. “Fenris, you will not want any clothing on. This is likely to make you hypersensitive a while and I bet even clothes will hurt till it is over.” He lined up a serious of potions in a very specific order, many of which were lyrium potions. At Fenris’ hesitation, he flashed a silly grin. “Just because I am naturally drawn to very sexy male elven warriors does not mean I plan to do anything about you being naked. I like consensual partners… and besides, we will both be very busy doing vey not fun things.”

Varric bellowed laughter. Fenris coughed in surprise, but undressed and laid down on his bed, pulling a thin sheet over for modesty.

The night was long. The agony white hot. Fenris’ voice had gone hoarse hours ago. Anders was on his eighth lyrium potion. Justice shone bright through his eyes and cracks in his skin. Between Anders and Justice, Danarius’ magical chains unravelled. Fenris begged in a whisper to remove the blanket. It hurt too much. Anders tugged it off and kept working.

In the predawn light, Justice faded from Anders. Anders’ magic shifted to a gentle green glow and eased the lingering pain in Fenris’ body. “It is… done…” He sounded so exhausted. He dabbed a shaking hand to his face where a trickle of blood oozed from his nose. Blood laced with lyrium. His eyes rolled back and he crumpled off the stood he had sat on all night.

Fenris rolled to try to grab him, but he was too sluggish, not yet himself recovered. Varric dropped Bianca onto the plush chair and hurried over to haul Anders to the other plush chair.

“Fool,” croaked Fenris. “Is he alive?”

“He’s alive. But damn. He looks terrible.” Varric got a rag and cleaned Anders up.

“Fool…” Despite his complaining, Fenris had never felt so free. He could no longer sense the lingering tingle that he knew was traces of Danarius. He no longer felt the undercurrent of lyrium burn. Anders AND Justice stuck to their word, even if they foolishly risked dying of lyrium poisoning. And yet Fenris wondered. Did Anders care if he died from lyrium poisoning? Did he hope to in order to be free of Justice?


	2. Ripped Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danarius tears Justice apart, only to be torn apart by Fenris in turn.

Anders had not been this ill, like sick to his stomach with blood and vomit and burning blue piss kind of ill in all his life. It was Warden stamina that got him through the unraveling of the magic bindings within Fenris. Well, Justice and Warden stamina that allowed him to take up to twelve lyrium potions and live, with his mind still intact. Though, he wondered about the later.

He rolled over with a groan. His stomach emptied yet again over the side of the bed. Someone wiped his mouth with a cold damp cloth and then his face. Everything was blurry in his vision and shimmered silvery like trying to look through water at night and up at the full moon. A firm grip helped him sit up and brought a cup of water to his lips. Every sound seemed muffled and mixed with the thrumming of his pulse that was too loud and the whisper of darkspawn that remained in the back of his mind. Justice was quiet, but his presence could still be felt. These strong hands helped him to stand and over to a place where he sat and relieved himself. He hissed from the burn of it. He panted and sweated.

“I’ll head to his clinic and get him a change of clothes as soon as we get him out of those ones and washed up.” Varric kept Anders steady on the chamber pot chair while Fenris filled a tub with warm water. When Fenris returned, they stripped Anders of his sweat soaked clothing. Varric was colorfully cursing under his breath about the mage being crazy to give himself lyrium poisoning. Then he exclaimed, “Flaming Andraste fucked by a genlock!”

Fenris raised his eyes back to Anders to see what Varric yelled about. Anders had started to struggle in grave distress. Fenris dropped the towels and soap to the floor and grabbed up a sheet, wrapping it swiftly around Anders to cover what he just saw. Fenris had seen slaves, the very worst treated slaves look as scarred and lashed as that. No wonder Anders hid his body beneath so many layers of clothing and wore long sleeves even in the heat of summer.

_“Mages outside Tevinter are treated just as badly as slaves in Tevinter! Why can’t you see that our plights are the same!” Anders had yelled at him one afternoon on the way back from a mission._

Fenris did not believe it. He still couldn’t entirely. And yet he remembered Knight-Captain Alrik torturing that young girl. What had Anders actually been through? Would Anders open up to him as he had to Anders? Did he want to try to understand Anders psychotic reasonings behind his manifesto? Fenris shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. He guided Anders to the bath. “Go Varric. And get a few changes of clothes and… food. Please. And… bring back that red pillow from his cot.”

Varric left as the sun was rising and wished he could get sleep. After. First was to make sure Broody and Blondie were alright. At the clinic, he was not surprised to find that Anders had no spare clothing beyond a couple pairs of socks and a single change of smalls. He packed those into a bag and the red pillow that was indeed on the cot. Varric wondered with curious bemusement how Fenris knew of it and why Fenris thought it was important to bring. Well, Anders did have money due him from their last mission. By the time he reached Lowtown, the market there was open. He bought some sleep pants and plain tunics in roughly Anders’ size. In Hightown, he bought a good sized breakfast from one of the stalls and a bag of supply food to carry Fenris and Anders for a few days. The elf really needed to clean his place up and make use of that large kitchen.

Anders staggered in a muddled haze interrupted by moments of distress where he thought he was naked, then thought he was in water, then thought he was being touched in all the wrong places. Fenris was as soaked as Anders by the end of the bath. It was like trying to bath a cat that did not want to get wet! Anders calmed once he was bundled in a huge warm towel and sat in the plush chair. Fenris debated leaving him there for a moment. Wondered how long was safe. Figured he might as well test what Anders did. He called upon the lyrium and streaked into the hall. He released it. It still burned on release but not near so bad. And after a few breaths, that burn vanished. He sneered a dangerous grin. “Danarius, I am no longer yours… when we meet again. You die.” He retrieved clean linens from one of the storage rooms and changed his bedding.

Varric came back shortly after. The two managed to get Anders into a clean set of clothing and tucked into the Fenris’ own bed. “I can take it from here, Varric. Thank you for your help and your trust.”

“My trust? Broody, I thank **you** for trusting me.” Varric would have added his usual, ‘don’t kill each other’ comment, but he felt fairly certain that was unlikely to be a risk anymore.

It took Anders a day of lying there being cared for before anything came close to making sense. He had drank so much water, he felt like the Waking Sea was in his belly. He pissed so much lyrium he knew he would need to cast healing on his private bits later. He started thinking he was in darkness. But there were a few candles lit and the fireplace. A deep rumble could be heard from one of the chairs, “Relax. You are in my place still and I have not left you in the dark.” Fenris…

Anders slowly sat up. “You… I’m… these are not my clothes.”

“You were sick all over your clothes. Varric brought you new clothes and I got you cleaned up. One day, we will have a talk about the marks upon YOUR body.” Fenris brought food over to the mage and bade him eat. “Your clothes are clean now and almost dry.”

Anders would not look up at him. He felt so ashamed of himself, so disgusted. Even when he worked in brothels when on the run from Templars, he never exposed himself, never removed his shirt. It was his only rule.

Fenris crouched before him and used his name for a rare change, “Anders. You succeeded. You did it. I… I am free. Thank you.”

A shy smile touched the mage’s lips. He accepted the tray of food and ate quietly as he composed himself. “It was a vile thing what Danarius did in you. I hope he dies.” Sometimes words like that seemed so jarring coming from Anders who heals the poor and coos about kittens.

By the afternoon, Anders dressed in his old clothes in privacy, collected his things, and headed back to his clinic. Fenris lurked farther behind to make sure Anders got there safely, knowing Anders wasn’t up to a fight yet. He still needed another day to just rest, maybe more than a day. Fenris returned home to sleep as well afterwards.

Anders put down his bulky bag and unpacked it. Clothes… he had… clothes. New clothes. He’ll probably shred them into bandages before the week is out when he runs out of the bandages he has on the shelves. He took out his red pillow with the sun embroidered in yellow upon it. It was from his mother. How did Fenris or Varric or both know to bring it? Holding it while he was sick made things so much more bearable. He traced the embroidery with a finger before placing it carefully on his cot with all the love he had for his mother.

The next order of business… He drank a healing potion and more water. Then stuffed his hand down the front of his pants and sighed as he cast a small healing spell. “Let’s not repeat this.”

A few days later, Aveline met with Fenris at his mansion to inform him of a woman, matching the description he gave her had landed from a ship, apparently alone. Fenris felt a mix of anxiety, fury, hope, so many emotions that he had no idea how to handle them. Being angry was easiest, it was habit. “I need to know for sure! I need to know if this is a TRAP!” he yelled to a patiently impassive Aveline. She left as Hawke entered and offered his help.

After some cursing in Tevinter, Fenris told Hawke everything about his plans to bring his sister Varania here to Kirkwall. He paced back and forth like a caged tiger as he talked. Hawke ventured to guess that Danairus might know, too. “The more it seems he doesn’t know, the more certain I become that he does!” He asked for Hawke’s company. In case it was a trap. And to just be moral support, but he refused to say so. As much as he felt Anders had succeeded, the real test would be in facing Danarius. The risk was very high and deep down, it scared Fenris to death. He never wanted to go back. Never.

Varania would be in the Hanged Man, all week. Fenris agreed to meet Hawke outside the Hanged Man. He didn’t dare go in alone. Hawke hunted down Anders and Varric who were both at the clinic. Varric had gone to deliver some much needed supplies. At the mention of Danarius, Justice flickered to the surface for a moment. Anders felt completely comfortable letting Justice take over when they face the man, if he was there. Justice must be done. Danarius needed to die.

Within was an elven woman at a table with dark rust colored hair. Did Fenris once have hair that color? Her voice was rich and deep as Fenris’ and she wore simple Tevinter clothes appropriate for a professional woman. She was supposed to be a free elf working as a tailor. She seemed falsely surprised that it really was Fenris before her.

Seeing her stirred dormant memories for Fenris. Flickers and stray images congealed to a scene of playing in a courtyard as children. “You called me…”

“Leto,” she supplied, knowing he had lost most of his memories from the branding process. She stood and carefully backed away from him, never meeting his eyes.

Hawke called out a warning that they leave, that it was a trap. But Fenris was rooted in place, mind flooding with memories that were hard to hold onto, hard to keep. Wariness growing with concern and then freezing in his blood as Danarius stepped into view and at the top of the stairs, “My little wolf,” he drawled with sick pleasure. Fenris’ resolve felt ripped away at the very sound of that voice, his master’s voice. He thought he was stronger than that. Danrius took a step or two down the stairs, “Yes, my little wolf, predictable as always.”

Her apology seemed so vacant, “I am sorry it came to this, Leto.” Her words broke his stunned immobility.

“You lead him here!” Fenris snarled with a short lunge towards her.

Danarius approached. Hawke and Varric kept a wary eye. Anders snuck innocent people out the side exit through the kitchen. Fenris had said all magisters were blood mages. Innocent bystanders were usually unfortunate sacrifices. Danarius made a slight wave of his hand towards Varania, “Now now, Fenris. Don’t blame your sister. She did what any good imperial citizen should.”

The conversation degenerated into one that left Fenris mostly out as Danarius addressed Hawke and tried to convince him to hand his pet back to him. Of course Hawke did not comply. “Fenris does not belong to anyone.”

At Danarius’ snide chuckle and commentary about how Fenris was “rather skilled,” Fenris finally found the courage to move, “SHUT YOUR MOUTH, DANARIUS!” For Fenris did not want the embarrassment of what he had been and done with his master to be laid out for all to know.

Now Danarius’ tone shifted from the cool calm to an underlying angry, “The word is Master.” The room erupted in a wave of Tevinter guards and demons as Danarius made a hasty retreat up the stairs to fight from that vantage point. Varania backed into a far corner out of the way. Blades and blood and arrows and spells. Fenris and Hawke had their hands full in the fight. Varric picked people off and more flooded down the stairs.

Fenris felt the familiar buzz through his brans of Anders magic, buffing him, shielding him. It did not interrupt his fighting. Not till the fifth man was dead did Fenris realize Danarius was NOT controlling him. And Danarius seemed almost perturbed as to why that failed. Anders skirted the perimeter of the room, letting fly lightening, fire balls, the occasional freeze spell. Justice strengthening him and sparking through his skin. Fenris was too surrounded to get to Danarius. Part of him hoped Anders might kill the older master. And part of him really hoped not, because Fenris really wanted to feels the man’s heart in his claws, feel the claws crush it, feel the blood between his fingers. Yet something in the back of Fenris’ mind tickled a warning for Anders not to engage, a vague memory. Then he was tackled to the floor and had to fight his way free again.

The first wave of demons rose throughout the main bar area to attack the companions the very second the last guard fell to his death. Fenris got no closer to Danarius, who had of course summoned them. He was powerful, the sheer number of demons was staggering, testament to his skill and ability and control. Then Anders abandoned the fight. He turned on the stairs and rushed at Danarius, glowing fiercely with the power of Justice. Danarius found himself surprisingly thoroiughly engaged.

That should have stopped the rise of demons and undead. But it didn’t. Fenris felt a foreign magic upon him, but that did not affect him. He spun trying to determine where it came from. Who was the apprentice casting and summoning. The search nearly got him fried by a rage demon’s fire. The corpses of the Tevinter guards rose to rejoin the fight.

Then a familiar buzz vibrated in the room. Familiar to Fenris. Danarius was opening a rift in the Fade. “Anders! Look out!” It was too late. Danarius cut a gash across the mage’s chest and used Anders’ own blood to complete the opening of the rift. A blast of spirit force from Justice, barely rocked Danarius who sneered. “You are but a child. Old spirit as you are, you do not have a proper hold in your vessel and your vessel has no control.” Magic lashed forward. Fenris could not get close to protect, to stop what he now remembered that Danarius could do, had done before to other apprentices. Danarius ripped the spirit of Justice from Anders by magic and force. “Back to the Fade with you troublesome thing.” And Danarius cast Justice through the rift. Anders mouth had opened in a silent scream with eyes wide and wild for a moment before he sagged lifelessly onto the stairs.

Fenris dispatched another demon and was back to back with Hawke. “Anders… he’s down. If you got that Holy Golden bomb thing. Use it now.” He stepped around Hawke making a wide sweep with his blade, giving Hawke room to evade attackers and throw the new creation of his at Anders. It would revive the dead, but you had a very short time to use it.

Danarius had almost made it down the stairs towards Fenris, using magic to throw people out of his way. Varric slipped by and up the stairs to Blondie. A quick check and he gave Hawke a thumbs-up to say Anders lived. The fight now focused on Danrius, doing their best to wear him out. That Danarius could not force his control over Fenris angered him over and over as he tried. It also wasted mana he could not afford.

Soon the rise of dead and demons ended. Varania staggered back against a wall, drained. And at last, Danarius dropped to a knee gasping, drawing a knife again to cut himself for more access to magic. Fenris did not give him the chance. Lyrium brands flared. The elf streaked forward. A steel-clawed hand plunged into the former-master’s chest and raised him literally off the floor. “YOU. Are. No longer. My master!” Fenris crushed the heart and ripped it away as Danarius had ripped away Justice from Anders. The man’s body thudded to the floor. Fenris uncurled his claws and dropped the ruined organ beside its former body.

Rage still filled Fenris as he then turned to face his sister.

She cowered, hands raised defensively. “I had no choice.” She explained how Danarius was going to make her his apprentice, how Fenris had fought for the chance to have the lyrium brands and for the boon of freeing both sister and mother, how life in freedom was no boon.

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister!?” snarled Fenris. Then it dawned on him. She had done the summoning while Danarius was occupied with Anders. She had used blood magic to cast something upon him, which failed thanks to both the lyrium and Anders defensive magic. The betrayal had compounded and shattered the frail hope he had of a family. She begged for her life as his brands illuminated again and he stalked closer to her. “I would have given you… everything,” his words were filling with all the devastated feelings within him. She died as Danarius did by his hand, as any blood mage would.

He stared down at her body for many minutes, unsure how to feel now. “I thought a sense of my past would bring a sense of belonging. But I was wrong.” His shoulders sagged. His heart heavy with loss. “Magic has… tainted that too… There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am… alone.”

“You have friends,” Hawke reminded him.

Fenris looked from Hawke to Varric on the stairs who was carefully tugging an unconscious Anders up a stair at a time. “Yes… a mage, too. I feel unclean, like this has left a stain on my soul.” Fenris looked back at the carnage of the room. “I… I need to get out of here.” He left and no one followed.

Hawke new from other times Fenris needed to get away, that the elf needed space, needed a few minutes or even an hour to sort his feelings before he could be approached by another living being.

Fenris had intended to stay just outside the Hanged Man, but found his feet moving. Soon found himself at his mansion. Then up the stairs to his one clean room where he ripped out a cork and drank deep from a bottle of expensive wine.

Hawke helped Varric get Anders into a bed in a spare room upstairs. “Did I see what I thought I saw?” asked Hawke. “Did Justice get ripped from him and thrown into the Fade?”

“Yup, Blondie is going to be a right mess from that, I expect.” Varric then left Hawke to try to treat Anders chest gash while he headed out for the city guard to deal with this… mess.

Anders roused after a few hours, a shaking hand loosely fisted and thudded his brow in disbelief. “He’s… he’s… gone…” The hollow silence was unbearable. He started to shake all over and keen. Hawke grappled with him to keep him from hurting himself. Anders lost consciousness again moments later.

Hawke sighed, not knowing what else to do. He stayed with Anders while Varric worked with Sebastian and Aveline and the other city guards to right the disaster below. Anders had roused a few times, scared, disoriented, unable to speak, not recognizing anything, not even Hawke. It distressed Hawke so much that he needed to step out for a drink.

“How’s Blondie?” asked Varric.

“Like his mind is scrambled. Like… someone took his thoughts and memories and shoved them into a drink shaker and dumped them on the floor then swept them up losing a bunch of the bits.”

Varric and Aveline winced. It was Sebastian of all people who spoke words of hope, laced still with distain, “Give him time and he might be able to sort it all out and remember things. Are you sure that spirit is gone?” At everyone’s insistence, he whispered a prayer for thanks. “Just remember, he really ought to be in the Circle where he can be watched. He’s a mess. A powder keg waiting to go off. Who knows how his magic will react after such a trauma.”

“Sebastian, if you don’t got anything nice to say, please don’t say anything at all.” Varric’s chastisement humbled Sebastian. Grand-Cleric Elthina always reminded him to mind his temper and opinion and act with compassion. Seeing the growing discomfort in Hawke, Varric suggested he go visit Fenris. Varric would stay with Anders for now.

Anders lay there in the bed, lost, confused, aching inside and out. There were so many gaps in his memory and everything was so mixed up that he felt like he was scattered like chum in the sea. The sea? Why had he thought of the sea? He couldn’t remember where he was, what happened last, why he hurt. The hole in him, the vacant silence… that he knew. Justice, his sole companion in his mind that chased away the nightmares and provided him with constant companionship… was gone. Gone. Ripped away. He covered his face with his hand and started to weep.


	3. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is lost without Justice. Plans had been thwarted. The Chantry was supposed to be safe.

Fenris felt at a loss. He was… free. Now what? Hawke came to visit him and they discussed the oddness and emptiness of vengeance. Now Fenris was free. He had nothing left of his past. Hawke suggested that he is now free to choose his own future and leave the past behind.

“I have Anders to thank for this freedom, Hawke. He undid within me some things that Danarius had done. Things that used to allow Danarius to control me. I… must confess. Perhaps you and he are right. Not all mages are alike.” Fenris still saw Anders rushing at Danarius to distract him, the shimmer of Justice like a large armored ghost knight overlapping Anders as Danarius ripped the spirit away and cast it into the fade. A mage… risked his very life for Fenris. A mage! That mage. “It seems I need to re-evaluate my perceptions.”

Hawke grinned a lopsided grin. He had known for so long that Anders and Fenris had enough in common to agree with one another, if they could just get over each other’s animosities and opinionated attitudes. “Questioning beliefs is never easy.”

Fenris had to agree and was very grateful Hawke came to visit. The walk to the mansion allowed him to calm down and while there talking with Hawke, he was able to sort his feelings. He really had felt alone. Before, without his memories and with the tease of a potential sister, he had some vague hope that he was not. That he had family somewhere. But his mother was dead, and now his sister. Alone was a very uncomfortable feeling. Hawke reminded him that he was not alone. He had friends to share with and to lean on.

Fenris suddenly wondered about Anders. “How is the mage?”

Hawke tensed and cringed. “I don’t even remotely know where to begin or what to do with him? His mind is a jumbled scrambled mess. He didn’t even know who I was! Or where he was. I’m going to try to spend some time with him, but with Meredith trying to control the bloody city… I’m busy.”

“I’ll go get some of his belongings from the clinic and stay with him tonight. Will you dine with Varric and me?” Fenris hoped he could sit with Varric. The three of them needed to talk about this, about Anders’ state of mind. Fenris needed to explain things. He owed it to Anders.

He gripped wrists in a shake at the door. “I am with you for whenever you need me, Hawke.”

Hawke agreed to get back for dinner at the Hanged Man now that he was sure both his friends were at least in safe places, if not in safe head-spaces. He needed to find Sebastian and talk to him next.

Fenris headed to the clinic. He was glad for the times he had spied on the apostate (amend the thought), the mage, so he learned how Anders got in and out while keeping the place locked. The bag Varric had packed with spare clothing had not even been unpacked. Anders had hardly been there for a day. Varric’s delivered supplies were still in a box where they had left them when Hawke interrupted the delivery to bring them to the hanged man. Fenris now wondered if Anders had really even recovered enough for the fight he got into. Fenris grabbed up the red satin pillow before departing and shoved it into the bag, too.

At the Hanged Man, he greeted Varric. “I feel like we just did this,” Varric said gesturing to the bag Fenris carried. “Do you think he’ll come round?”

Fenris shrugged. “We’ll talk over dinner. Hawke is coming. I will try to explain what Danarius did and maybe we can find a way to fix… this.” He glanced down at all the city guards and the few Templars now investigating the area. “Vanhedis. Where were they when Danarius was actually here?” He turned into the room generously donated to Anders for the time being, knowing and trusting Varric to keep the Templars away.

Anders shivered curled up on the bed. He had wept on and off for a few hours, so distressed and confused and then alone in a strange room. The door opened and a tall tanned elf with white hair and tattoos walked in. His armor didn’t cover nearly all the places Anders expected armor to cover. It seemed to expose the tattooing decoratively. The clawed gauntlets struck a nerve in him and he somehow knew he ought to be afraid of them. The elf carried a sword as tall as he was that looked much too heavy for him. No wonder the elf stooped. The elf removed the sword and leaned it on the wall. Then he removed the wicked gauntlets and hung them from the sword’s crosspiece. He sat on a stool by the bed and set a backpack down between his feet.

“Do you know where you are? Or what happened to you?” Fenris began. At the shake of Anders head and the slight quiver of his lip, he sighed. “What is your name?”

“A… Anders.”

“That’s a good start,” Fenris nodded with approval. “You are in the Hanged Man pub in Lowtown, a district of the city of Kirkwall in the Free Marches. You were hit by some very dangerous bloodmagic. I know things seem… disorienting… but it will get sorted out in time.” He gave a little stretch before continuing. “Do you know what you are?”

Anders pursed his lips refusing to answer that question.

“You are a mage. You know that, correct? An apostate. You can use magic.”

“I am NOT going back! Don’t send me back! Please… I beg you… don’t.”

Fenris removed the pillow from the backpack. “I won’t.” He placed the satin embroidered pillow on the edge of the bed and watched Anders reach over and pull it too him. “Do you remember your time in the Circle?” Anders flinched so hard it almost made Fenris flinch in defense. He frowned to himself. “Do you remember becoming a Grey Warden?” That too seemed to distress Anders. He expected it would since Anders had been running from both Templars and Wardens. He didn’t know why. However, scaring Anders was not the point. The point was to give him some key concepts of his early life before Justice became part of it, concepts that will help anchor Anders memories, and get him thinking of his origins and piecing the more stable memories back together.

After several quiet minutes, Fenris asked softly, “Do you know who I am?”

Anders shook his head with anxiety all over his face, “Should I?”

“It will come to you eventually,” said Fenris, though he honestly was not sure. He tugged a second blanket over Anders to keep him warm against falling into a state of shock. Then he reached into the backpack again and pulled out a few potion bottles. “This bag has some spare clothing for you and some potions, which you made. That is your handwriting, is it not?” He showed Anders the bottles. Anders nodded with a frown that said he did not remember making them. “Read them to me, for I have not learned how to read yet.”

“You don’t know how to read?”

“A friend was trying to teach me, but I got frustrated and he lost patience. We stopped after two lessons,” explained Fenris.

“I could teach you. I used to teach the children in the Circle and … and…” He frowned in concentration, trying to remember who else and where he had taught, and what.

“I may take you up on that later. For now, read me the labels.” After Anders read each label, Fenris placed all but one bottle back into the bag. The last one he told Anders to drink. “It will help against shock, will it not? As well as damage done to your magic?” He knew it would, but by asking Anders, it made the mage sort through his scattered knowledge for the answer and nod.

Anders sat up, hugging the pillow to his chest with one hand. He drank from the proffered bottle with the other.

“Who has been in here today?” asked Fenris.

Anders thought, “A… a dwarf. I think I know him, but… I… I don’t…”

“It’s alright. It will come back,” Fenris reassured him. After all, that was good that Anders found familiarity in someone from Kirkwall. He was worried that Anders may have been stripped of all memory post joining with the spirit. “Anyone else?”

“A man. Dark hair. Dark blue eyes like an evening sky. A beard. He seemed uncomfortable and left, but he was real nice. I should know him too…”

“He is a good friend. They both are. I am about to have dinner with them. If you are no longer feeling shaky, come join us.” He stood, leaving the bag behind but taking his gauntlets and sword with him as he left. He needed a good stiff drink with Varric. It upset Fenris that Danarius took even this away from Fenris. At least, this, he might be able to get back with care.

Anders did not join them for dinner. He felt too out of sorts, almost sick to his stomach with everything.

Sebastian dropped by to visit. Varric warned him to behave like a good brother of the Chantry. That was the first breath. The second breath included that if the Templar’s came to take Anders away, Bianca would know what a Vael tastes like, spoken affably of course. Sebastian got the proverbial point. Hawke had already been lecturing him all the way there. Sebastian joined them for dinner and to hear what Fenris had to say before he would visit with the apostate.

At the table in Varric’s quarters, Fenris explained what he knew of Anders’ condition. They shared a meal as he talked. “Danarius used to do this to upstart lesser magisters or apprentices who stepped out of line. Cast their possessing demon into the Fade forcing them into a weaker state of magic till they learned their place and reclaimed control over another demon. In Anders case, he did not take any time and was … less than careful. It seems likely that any memories where Justice was involved were likely ripped away along with the spirit. I can’t be entirely sure, though. When Danarius did this to people in Tevinter, half lived and needed a few days to a few weeks to sort themselves out, while the other half either went mad or died.”

Varric put down his mug of ale, “So Blondie has a 50-50 chance of recovering or going mad?”

“Recovery may never be complete,” explained Fenris. “If the spirit was in full control, then those memories may not even have been Anders' at all to begin with. If he had control over his spirit as magisters learn to do through bloodmagic, then that would be a different.”

“So we do whatever we can to help Anders remember,” stated Hawke.

“Without overloading him. I already know what it is like to be overwhelmed by too much recall. It only leads to losing those memories again and being even more frustrated with yourself because you should remember and can’t.” Fenris spoke from very personal experience, as much to explain Anders’ situation to Hawke as to explain why Fenris had left Hawke after that one night they spent together years ago. He then explained how Anders had freed him from Danarius’ control which allowed him to kill Danarius. He owed Anders both his freedom and his life. It was why he had told Hawke back in the mansion his new understanding that not all mages are alike. “We need to give him time, and support.”

“Well, Blondie can stay here for now,” suggested Varric. “I can keep an eye on him and keep Templars away. That will give him both time and space to recover and sort himself out.”

“And what about when he remembers? What will he be or do?” Sebastian asked. “I still stand by my warning that he is not very well in control and thus is dangerous. Will he seek another spirit or demon? He said yes to one already.”

It was a valid concern, one Fenris also had in the back of his mind. “We will be vigilante. I did swear to Hawke when I first joined him that I would watch the mage. And I will,” promised Fenris.

The others chose to share some drinks while Sebastian went to look in on Anders. Hawke had asked Sebastian to be the chantry brother he was before Grand-Cleric Elthina released him of his vows, that if there was a Maker, and if that Maker was compassionate in any way (though Hawke doubted, but Sebastian believed), maybe Sebastian’s experience might be… helpful… to Anders at this time. Sebastian had no idea what he was going to walk in on and felt very naked when he left his armor and bow at the Varric’s table on Fenris’ insistence.

If he set aside the fact that Anders was a mage, what Sebastian saw was a broken and lost man, the kind he had served as a brother when doing charitable works. “All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, From the lowest slaves, To the highest kings,” he murmured to remind himself. Anders lay curled under the blankets, the red pillow with the chantry sun embroidered upon it clutched tight. His eyes searched inward at the scattered mess of his memories before focusing on the new person entering the room.

“Don’t ask! Don’t ask if I know you… I… I don’t…” Anders squeezed his eyes shut.

Sebastian drew upon the lessons of being a brother and gentled himself for this counselling. He fetched a basin of water and a cloth, setting it upon the stool. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. “I won’t ask. You and I did not know each other well anyhow. My name is Sebastian.” He stroked the satin pillow. “Where did you get such a beautiful Chantry meditation pillow?” It was not something he expected Anders to have.

“My mother made it for me. It was the only thing I was allowed to keep when they took me from her.”

Sebastian frowned to himself. He wondered why it was the only item Anders was permitted. Why restrict children thus? A question he could ask Grand-Cleric Elthina later. “I was a brother of the Chantry till duty had called me to be released, but I still believe and serve. I am a good listener if you want to talk.”

Anders took in a shuddering breath and buried his have partly into his mother’s pillow. “I… Have been torn apart. My friend… my companion… he’s gone. Taken right out of me. There are so many holes… giant swallowing dark holes. I can’t… I can’t remember things… and it… hurts… I am so… alone… and lost.” Anders broke into sobs.

Sebastian felt his own heart ache despite his disagreement with the spirit that had possessed Anders. He placed a hand on Anders’ back and rubbed gentle soothing circles. “Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.” It was from the Canticle of Trials and seemed appropriate at this moment. “You are not alone.”

Sebastian coaxed Anders to sit up and washed his face for him. It was an act of absolution, cleansing. Sometimes inner pain needed something so simple as this, to have someone else wash away the tears, in order to make room for healing. “You are not alone,” he repeated. Anders hugged the pillow to his chest. “I think your friends would like to have you join them for something to eat. You need not sit here alone. I am assured and I believe that you will remember them. Give yourself time and let the light of the Maker illuminate the darkness within. Healing, starts here.” He touched the center of Anders chest. Then lightly touched under Anders’ chin. “Take a deep breath with me.” He held Anders gaze and inhaled deeply and slowly. Anders followed suit. “Everything will be alright. You are with friends.” He stood and guided Anders out of the room.

It was the first of soon several moments outside that room. It was days before Anders was sorted out enough to not freak out, or burst into tears and hide in the room. He still could not remember anyone or anything of Kirkwall. He walked about with his pillow clutched to him like a security blanket wherever he went, which usually was only between his room and Varric’s quarters. Sometimes he sat at a table in the main room, close to Varric as Varric told tales to anyone who would listen.

The first person Anders actually recognized and could name turned out to be, of all people, Isabella. He knew her from the Pearl in Denerim. The brothel she hung out it. She called him Sparkle Fingers and drew out a shy smile from him. But she could not really touch him. He felt too nervous. She talked with him some and became the first bridge for his past to his present. Varric was the other for through his stories, he helped Anders sort out the chaos of random memories.

Bit by agonizing bit, names came to him. Hawke and their relationship and their parting to be just friends. Taking Bethany to the Wardens to save her from the taint. Aveline and Donnic and the silly adventure to help those two realize their love for one another. Varric and his crossbow, Bianca. Merrill’s name came with awkward discomfort he could not put a finger on. Fenris… He came with such a mix of want and gaps and fear. Was he friend or foe? Many of the events in Kirkwall were gaps. How he got there was a complete loss. The reason he was in Kirkwall dragged him down to tears again. Sebastian… was never in his memories so he relied on the new ones he made of him.

When he seemed calm enough to handle being on his own some. Hawke and Fenris agreed that returning Anders to the clinic would help more than keeping him at the Hanged Man. Fenris promised to keep an eye and to protect Anders from the rampant Templars. At least they still didn’t venture very often into Darktown.

Anders walked hesitantly through the run-down clinic like it was new to him. Unfamiliar territory. “I can’t believe I ran a clinic. All by myself.”

Fenris wondered from that if pre-Justice Anders ever had such courage. Perhaps not with his record of running away from things. He thought though, that Anders had it in him just the same. Justice wasn’t always in control, in fact, rarely was when Anders healed. Those memories just haven’t come back to Anders yet. “You were very good at this. One of the most skilled healers. You used potions and medicines that you crafted yourself. You healed without magic more often than with. Your knowledge… is impressive in this field.” He felt strange providing such compliments to the mage.

Anders stopped at one table and paused, frowning as he searched his thoughts. “I met you in this room, at this table where I was healing a boy.” Fenris nodded when Anders looked up. Anders then approached the elf as the memories trickled back. “I’ve healed you. Here… and… on sand…”

“On the Wounded Coast,” Fenris supplied.

“And… in a house full of ruin and dried bodies?”

Fenris rolled his eyes but nodded, “My mansion.”

“You do know that it is very unhealthy to live in such conditions, don’t you?” And there was the healer speaking with the hint of condescension that Fenris recognized.

He raised a brow and pointedly looked about the clinic. “You do know you have a clinic of healing that you craft medicines in and sleep in that resides in Darktown, don’t you? Did you miss the filth and squalor we walked through to get here?” Tit for tat.

“Do we always fight?” Anders asked.

Fenris looked away guiltily. “We often have. It had taken many years to understand each other.”

Anders dropped his eyes and nervously asked in a whisper, “Were we… lovers?”

Fenris almost jumped, flushing red to the tips of his ears. Did Anders really feel interested? Maybe the jokes were not… exactly jokes? “No. We have only recently become… friends. It is because of you that I am free of the bloodmagic that was within me, the magic my slave master used to control me. And it is because of you, that I was able to finally defeat him and gain my complete freedom. I am sorry it cost you the spirit within you, and the harm to your mind when you fought him.”

Anders eyes searched Fenris too deeply, making the elf feel a bit uncomfortable. Anders saw the discomfort. It was a hope that maybe he had someone close, someone to fill the gaps and holes inside him. He knew Hawke was not it, even if he was for a time. He and Hawke broke up and Hawke had moved on. But he didn’t know where he stood with Fenris. He looked away with a small apology and took a step back, turning to look across this clinic that was his.

Fenris felt hurt in a way at that retreat. He expected people to shrink in fear of him, like his enemies. He expected some to turn away in anger as some of their companions did when he spoke too harshly, or when he and Anders fought. But this… this was hurt. This was distrust. This was not any reason he wanted someone to turn away. He reached out and touched the mage’s shoulder.

Anders turned back, “I’m sorry, Fenris. This is all so… confusing and a bit… overwhelming. I never saw myself as a leader of anything. Not of a clinic and certainly not of this Mage Underground that Varric told me of. I feel like I have been emptied and it is hard to breathe. I don’t know what I should be doing. I only remember my life as people telling me what to do, except the times I ran away. I guess… I was always… alone…” He walked through the various sections of the clinic. “I suppose… I could get back to healing and doing good works. People are in need. All these innocent lives ruined by the Blight, by the battle of the Arishok, by the overcrowding, by the mines, and by the Templars.”

Fenris did not interfere with the exploration or Anders’ thinking out loud. He did not want to become the crutch. He wanted Anders to find his own feet and stand on them. He found he missed that incredibly annoying Anders. And yet this sad one had a curiosity that was endearing and a loneliness that ached as true as his own. “I and the others will do our best, and have, to keep the Templars away from you.”

Anders walked towards the back of the clinic towards his own private room, walled off by tattered hanging blankets. “I did terrible things too. When Justice and I joined, I killed… everyone in our group. We were betrayed at Vigil’s Keep. A Warden working with Templars tried to take it over, along with the city of Ameranthine and … to return me to the custody of the Templars that hunted me.” He remembered now why he was here, why he came to Kirkwall. The how was still sketchy. “I have been healing people to… try to make up for the innocent lives lost when I could not … control… My hurt and anger twisted Justice into something terrible… twisted me…” Then he gasped and ran into the private area.

Fenris followed.

Anders yanked back a plank. Then sank onto the dilapidated cot with a relieved sigh. He looked up at Fenris who pushed aside the curtain and entered to see. Within the hole in the floor lay a book, a Tevinter spellbook, and several jars and vials. The book had a bookmark or three in it. “Fenris… oh thank Andraste by her pretty …” he didn’t finish the rude comment. “Justice… We… “ he started to almost hyperventilate and had to take a few moments to calm down. “This… we were going to destroy the Chantry. Fenris… All the strange things Hawke had me find… They were components to destroy the Chantry. Oh please… don’t tell him. It will hurt him so. I never… I didn’t... I don’t want to hurt innocent people. Maker, Fenris. Don’t ever let me go through with this.”

“Then burn the book now.”

“No! No… It has other stuff in it that is really… important.” He couldn’t really recall what.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, ready to kill the mage if he had to. He wanted no magister in place of a possessed apostate.

Anders lifted the book out of the hole in the floor and opened it to one of the green bookmarks. Fenris forgot to breathe as his eyes fell upon the open page. There in fine yet fading lines was the sketch of an elf with lines upon his naked form just like Fenris had. Anders looked up at Fenris. “I was trying to understand how you were made and how to help you use the lyrium in you. Why you lost your memories and what the purpose was to do such a thing to you.” He closed the book. “I remember now.” He put the book back in the hole and covered it up. “The destruction spell and the creation of you are both in this book. And they are tied into Kirkwall. If Danarius had this book and access to the places mentioned in this book… he could raze the Chantry, maybe even the city, sacrifice enough lives to sunder the Veil and march into the Fade as the Magisters of old had when they sought the Great City. But the spells that made you are stolen from Ancient Elvhen texts. They are mentioned in this book. And maybe… we could find out more or the location and …” he shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ancient Guardians looking like you with lyrium is just Elvhen myth.”

Fenris swallowed hard. “Keep the book hidden. I will think on what to do about it. Tell no one else. I do not wish upon anyone what was done to me.”

“And I never wished to harm people who do not deserve harm, not even to make a point. That is where Justice and I disagreed. Yes, the Templars are … beyond corrupt. And there is corruption in the Chantry and if the Chantry falls and the control of Templars over mages fall, then changes can be made. But… There has to be a better way.” Anders rubbed his temple. The memories were flooding back and the headache that came with them pounded.

There were still gaps and Anders still didn’t know when or if he would remember them. He didn’t really even know anymore what kind of a man he was. He lowered his hand to his lap and stared down, uncertain of himself. Of all the decisions that lead him to accept Justice all the way through to now. The sense of being lost started to return.

“Take one step at a time. Why don’t you light the red lantern of be the healer the people need for now? And when Hawke has need, join us on missions. You were… a good addition to our team.” He had to admit it. He missed the feel of the healing and the buffs, the sureness he had when going into fight that he would be mended of all damage from it and be able to keep at it till all their foes were defeated. Without Anders, it had left him less sure, more vulnerable. That was unacceptable in battle.

Movement was heard in the clinic and Fenris tensed, alert and stepped out to see who, drawing his blade. A man sat on one of the tables, clutching a gash in his stomach. He wondered how long the man was there, what he heard. Likely not much as the man was bleeding. Injuries tend to narrow one’s focus to the self. “Anders, I think you have your first patient.” Fenris put away his sword and lit the lantern for Anders. He remained as guard, out of the way to watch Anders work today. To just be there since Anders needed the moral support. It was his first day here and much happened.

Fenris relaxed in the background. This trauma that Danarius caused had one good side effect. It thwarted plans that would have destroyed the Chantry and hundreds of innocent people. The Chantry was safe for now. Fenris would watch that Anders did not endanger it. Anders was still so lost without Justice, but perhaps healing in the clinic again would help him find purpose.


	4. Chantry Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chantry was supposed to be safe. Kirkwall is on fire anyways.

The first two weeks seems to go smoothly, at least for Fenris watching over Anders in the clinic. He stayed out of sight and made sure no trouble of the Templar sort interfered. Anders was kept very busy healing people. Above them in both Lowtown and Hightown, things went less smoothly. Templars and City Guard had tension. The Champion struggled to keep balance. Slavers and other trouble found the hotbed to be a time to take advantage of the chaos.

Fenris returned home… home… staring at the foyer in its state of desiccated corpses and broken tiles. He wondered if he could call this home. What was a home like? He had no real memory of one and was a slave anyways. What was a free man’s home like? He had his own struggles with the reality of his freedom. He tried not to feel lost and floundering, but he did. A knock on the door behind him snapped him from his frustration.

Varric came in when Fenris opened the door. “I have a surprise for you, my broody friend!” He held out a tightly rolled set of papers tied with a ribbon from which hung a signet ring.

Fenris accepted it. “What is this?” He removed the ring and tried it on, but it did not fit any of his fingers. “I am sorry, it doesn’t…”

“You don’t wear that kind of ring, though I suppose some people do. It is a House ring or Family ring. A signet ring. You use it to seal letters or to mark letters in place of writing your name. I took the liberty to create one unique for you. I have a matching one of it in case yours gets… damaged.” He waited for the news to sink in.

Fenris stared down at the ring a long time. He knew of such rings. They were passed down through a family. Now he had one to pass down. He had a means to sign things without having to write his name, which he still could not yet do. “I… thank you. Thank you, Varric.”

“Open the rest,” he gestured at the papers.

Fenris unrolled the papers, and looked them over, not really knowing what he was looking at. He found his new seal at the bottom of each page and that all three pages were identical.

At the confused look on the elf’s face, Varric grinned. “That is the deed to this house, now in your name. Times three. I have a copy. There is one in the archives of the Viscount’s office with the Seneschal. And you have three copies. Keep them safe. This manor is now yours, bought and secured with funds Hawke and I had agreed to shave off all our incomes from each mission. We felt that Danarius did not deserve to own anything here in Kirkwall, and that included you. Now, you own something of his.”

Fenris had to chuckle at that. What irony! Now this mansion, technically called a manor here, really was his home. He owned it. Owned it as he owned his swords and his armor. Now he had a real place to truly put roots into. “Thank you, Varric. This means a great deal to me.”

“Good. I hope that means you will fix it up and invite us over to celebrate.” He waved as he stepped back out. “Gotta go now. The dwarven merchants’ guild is in a tizzy over taxes Meredith is trying to impose upon them.”

Fenris stood trying not to feel stunned. He owned a house. He owned Danarius’ house. HA! He owned a house that looked like a vile dump. The point of leaving it thus was to discourage people from raiding it or bothering him, to be a warning to any of Danarius’ hunters that they would end up like those corpses. The only room he kept impeccable was the meeting room at the top of the stairs where he had moved in a bed. It was where he chose to live. Now… he owned the whole building. He didn’t know where to begin. It was a bit overwhelming and he retreated to his room to think over a glass of wine.

He lounged in his plush chair by the fire reviewing everything from the last several weeks. How his life had changed. How his perceptions of people had changed. How he felt about the holes in his own memories and that he had come to accept them. He had freedom now, and choice. He was no longer held back by his past. It had taken him years, though to come to this level of comfort. He expected it would be no different for Anders. Except that Anders past lurked around every bloody corner of Kirkwall under Knight Commander Meredith’s rule. Templars.

He had watched Anders over the last couple weeks. The mage healed people like it was duty. He showed compassion, but it drained him more than usual. When the mage didn’t think anyone noticed, a look of inner pain and loss filled his eyes. He worked because he had no idea what else to do with himself in the turmoil of his mixed up memories. Sometimes some came back is rushes that left him terrified and shaking in his bed. He started to doubt himself in many things. He became quiet, introverted. Fenris began to wonder if maybe Sebastian was right. Anders was a powder keg waiting to go off. He needed an outlet before he did. He needed help sorting everything. But Anders had started to distrust everyone. Not sure who was really a friend and not. Wasn’t sure if his involvement was just because Justice found the person useful. He became afraid to get close to anyone.

Varric invited them all to dinner and game of wicked grace to have a mini celebration of Fenris getting deeds to his manor, until Fenris could fix up his place enough to have a proper celebration. Hawke escorted Anders as Templars were less likely to interfere with the Champion of Kirkwall over Anders than anyone else. Anders felt like all his friendships till now had been so hollow and wasn’t sure if he should or could deepen any of them. Everyone seemed so comfortable with each other. Anders felt out of place. His memories of each person present were sketchy. His anxiety interfered with his ability to plaster a false smile on. Part of him just wanted to run away. Hide in the clinic where it was safe. One on one with these people was so much easier than this. It didn’t help that Sebastian watched him warily. Or that Isabela flirted openly with him.

This was the first of several to come gatherings with the group and Anders grew more and more at relative ease with them. Though his smiles were shallow and his humor like a witty shield. Fenris recognized this as he had used fear and anger, what Varric called his broodiness, like a shield to keep everyone at a safe distance. When he returned to his clinic after these gatherings, he buried himself into his pillow and wept. He was lonely, soul-deep lonely, without the constant company of Justice within him. It was just a gaping hole that joined the one left by Karl’s death. He had no idea how to fill it. How to get close to any of these friends. He had already ended possible relationships with Isabela and Hawke and the others were not interested, had their own relationships in a way.

Anders thought about running away again. But he couldn’t outrun the darkspawn dreams, or that his life would be significantly shortened now that he was a Warden. He couldn’t see how to outrun the Templars and felt too tired doing it. He just wanted them to all stop and go away. He toed the hidden spot with the spellbook of doom as he had nicknamed it. He took it out and looked over that spell that would destroy the Chantry. Everything was ready. There was just one thing left to do to put it in motion. But killing people, innocent people… he could not do. It made him sick to think he had planned this at all. Justice had made him into an abomination. He broke down and wept again wishing Fenris had killed him for being the abomination he was always accused of being.

“Put the book away, mage.” Fenris stood in the curtained doorway of Anders private room in the clinic.

Anders dashed away his tears and shoved the book back into the hole and covered it. “What am I? What have I become? And why did you let me live if you knew I was becoming an abomination!!” He yelled accusingly at the elf.

“Hawke. He believed you had the strength to resist the spirit and that you were a good man and a good healer.”

“But you didn’t… don’t. You hate mages. Always say that we are doomed to be like those magisters.”

“Even possessed, you have shown me that not all mages are the same.” Fenris stepped closer, cautious not to trigger Anders into reacting as so many scared mages did. “I am not your enemy. And you are not mine.”

Anders rubbed over his own heart, it ached so much.

Fenris reached over and pushed Anders hand aside, pressing his hand to Anders heart. “You are not an abomination. And Justice’s plans have been stopped. You are not a murderer. And I know how it feels to have gaping holes in your memory. It gets easier to bear over time. Don’t shut out the people who call you friend.”

Fenris drew his hand away. “You offered to teach me to read. Will you still, my friend?”

“Are we? Friends?”

Fenris gave a curt nod. Anders needed the reassurance just as Fenris did. He needed to know he was wanted and needed.

So when a crisis occurred at Hawke’s mine, Fenris welcomed it and insisted they bring Anders along. The hike took much longer up the mountain than expected. Raiders, darkspawn, even slavers lurked at every turn. Anders fought and cast as he always had. Some things were automatic reactions. He knew what to do even if he did not think about it. At camp, he healed and engaged in the almost usual jests and quips and party banter. Until he came to Fenris.

Fenris watched him, watched every twitch, every nuance. “What?!” snapped Anders. “I’m fine. Stop looking at me like I am not.” Fenris looked away. They were starting to fall into their usual animosity. The familiar was often easier. Especially when the rest of the their companions expected it. Once everyone was asleep, Fenris would sit next to Anders. “Now what?” Anders asked with renewed annoyance.

“You promised to teach me to read and write.”

Anders looked over at the elf in surprise. “If I show you patience in this, you have to show me equal patience. No getting mad at me. I know what I am doing… at least… on this.” He took up a stick and drew a set of five symbols in the dirt. “All words are made up of a collection of symbols called letters. Each letter can represent several sounds depending on what letters they are grouped with. This one is A in the capital or big form. Capital letters start sentences and names. This is a small a. A is for apple, Anders, ask… they have the aaaaah sound for A. Hawke has an a in his name with an aw sound to the A. Blade as the ae sound in for the A in that word. Here, you draw the letter.” He handed the stick to Fenris so he could practice this letter.

“There are twenty-six letters in total. They make up the alphabet that most languages use, even Arcanum and Tevinter. Elvhen uses a different set of symbols, but I won’t teach them to you until you have a really good grasp of these.” Anders showed him B, C, D, E, and finally F. They spent several hours that evening with just these first six letters. Then Anders wrote in the dirt FENRIS. “What letters do you recognize in this word?”

Fenris studied it a moment. “F… and E… Fffff… eh… FEh…”

“Good, sounding out each letter will help you get the word. This one is your name. Fenris.” He smiled at the sudden light that came into the elf’s eyes to see his name and recognize at least two of the letters in it. He copied the letters of his name over and over in the dirt. Anders yawned. “You are on first watch. I’ll show you more tomorrow.” Anders curled up to sleep.

The previous two nights camping, Anders woke with nightmares. He usually did when they camped, even before. But they had never been quite so terrible. He used to wake with a gasp and then calm and roll over to sleep again. These past few night, he had tossed and turned, sweated and yelled and woke in almost terror, gasping and needing to be reassured that they were safe. He mumbled about darkspawn. Hawke slept close to him after those nightmares. A warm and friendly presence.

On the night Anders taught Fenris the first six letters of the alphabet, he had one of the worst nightmares he has ever had. Trapped. In darkness. Alone. Stone all around. Darkspawn so close. The shriek of a lesser dragon. Commanding… calling. Anders woke screaming! Hands over his ears. Hawke and Fenris rushed over, but he panicked at the movement and cast a deflect throwing them both back. He was on his feet and running a second later.

“Anders!” Hawke called.

“I’ll get him!” Fenris called back as he took off after the mage. He was faster than Hawke anyhow. And Anders magic didn’t always work on him if he focused. A benefit he found of the lyrium in him. Bare feet pounded over the dirt path as he ate up the distance swiftly, lyrium shimmering aglow to lend him extra speed. He tackled Anders to the ground.

Anders struggled and flailed and kicked, clamped his hands over his ears again, lips peeling back in a grimace as he keened. He curled in on himself in blind terror. Fenris tried to shake sense into him. Then Anders yelled, “DRAGON! Darkspawn dragon! NOoooo… I don’t want to go down in the dark! NOOO!”

Fenris shook him hard and pulled his hands from his ears, “ANDERS! Look at me!” Wild eyes locked onto Fenris. “Stay looking at me. You are outside. There is no dragon here. Is one near? At the mines?” Anders nodded frantically. “Breathe, mage. You are safe and not alone. I need you with me if I fight that. Do you understand?” Anders nodded again. He grabbed Fenris’ arm, making the elf jump at the contact, and would not let go. Hawke caught up to them with a vial in his hands that he made Anders drink. Anders choked a bit on it before the sleep potion took effect. His muscles relaxed and then his eyes rolled. “I’ll carry him back to camp. I think he has a jar of some tea he uses to keep calm with. Maybe Varric can make it?”

Hawke agreed and headed back to camp to do just that. “I am glad I keep some of those sleep potions. Bethany had warned me by letter last week that the darkspawn nightmares can get real bad and that this is the only way someone can get some sleep sometimes. But, it should not become a habit. She suspects he was be extra sensitive since she thinks that Justice might have been blocking the nightmares while Anders was possessed.”

“Great,” Fenris commented with sarcasm.

Back at camp, Hawke found the jar of tea and after everyone got some sleep, Varric made a pot of it to go with breakfast. Fenris slept next to Anders in case there was another incident. Hawke and Varric discussed the dragon and darkspawn Anders had screamed about.

Their voices and movements woke Fenris. He lifted his head to see that they were too occupied with the preparations of breakfast and their discussion to notice anything quiet where he and Anders lay. He reached over slowly and very gently pressed the backs of his fingers against Anders’ brow. He felt that brow crease. A thin whimper escaped quivering lips. Tears formed in the corners of closed eyes and slipped over the bridge of Anders nose and towards the bedroll. Fenris drew his hand away as Anders’ eyes fluttered open.

“Do you know anything about Wardens, Fenris?” Anders whispered shakily.

“Only that you can sense their corruption and they invade your dreams with terror,” he rumbles in a deep soft voice.

“I will never be free of Templars in my lifetime. And nothing I every do will see mages that live under the cruelty and corruption of the Templars and Chantry, free to choose their own lives. I won’t live… long. No Warden does. We get… at best twenty to thirty years from the time of Joining… mages… get less.” He took in a shuddering breath. “Then we suffer the Calling. The call of the darkspawn gets too great to resist and the taint in us takes over. They escort us then into the Deep Roads so that we can die on our feet fighting the darkspawn… and if we fail and turn… turn into one… they end us.” A shiver ran through his body.

They watched each on silence for a few minutes before Fenris finally asked. “When was your Joining?”

“Eight years ago…” Somehow those cool green eyes seemed more reassuring than anything else. “I want to do some good, see some change for the better before I am gone. All I ever wanted to be was a free man, healing people without fear for my life. And by the Maker… I don’t want to die in the dark Deep Roads. When I die, I want to see sky.”

“What are you two whispering about over there like lovers?” called Hawke. “Breakfast and tea are ready. I want to kill that dragon before I have no miners left.”

“Thank you oh faithful great leader, Hawke, for putting things into such wonderful perspective for us,” Anders called back as he sat up.

Fenris filed this conversation away for another day. He knew, just from that short whispered conversation, the man this mage was, is, could be… and that Anders would never do something to harm the innocent. Fenris found his purpose though was not ready to put it into words just yet.

Later that day, they made it to the mines. Anders threw himself into healing the miners out in the mining camp. So many wounded, terrified men. The sounds of a dragon shrieked from the Bone Pit. Fenris faces off Anders, “I need you. We need you.” Anders steeled himself and nodded. “Let us do something good, right here. And make a change for the better for these people.” Anders nodded more firmly and cast the buffs and protections upon Fenris then on the others.

The dragon died by nightfall. Sometime the next day, the mine was cleaned out of the darkspawn.

They took their time heading back, helping the injured along. Each night they camped, Anders sat with Fenris, showing him a few more letters and reviewing the first ones.

Missions went like this for a couple months. When not on missions, Fenris brought paper to the clinic. At his mansion, he worked harder than he ever had, clearing things, cleaning things, fixing things. He had a huge plan. Well, it felt huge to him. By the end of the fourth month, he locked himself away and skipped the weekly wicked grace night at the Hanged Man.

Several days later he made an appearance at the clinic during the day where Anders was elbow deep in blood from some random attack of the Templars on some folks. When he took a break, Fenris could hear the mage muttering colorful curses about the Templars. He approached and handed Anders a paper, folded neatly and sealed with Fenris’ new signet seal.

Anders looked up from where he sat on the bench and opened it. It was in Fenris’ imperfect, but decent handwriting. It had spelling errors, but still could be understood.

 _Thank yoo for being such a good and pashent teecher._  
I wood like to invite yoo to my home for a party.  
Fenris

Fenris was rewarded by the first real smile he had ever seen on Ander’s face. “You wrote this all by yourself. Fenris. I would love to come for a party at your home. When?”

“End of the week. I know it is not a perfect invitation. Can you help me write more for the others?”

“Sure, once I am done here.” Anders tucked the very evidence of Fenris’ writing into his pouch and stood up again to finish his work at the clinic.

At the Hanged Man the next night at their wicked grace game, Fenris shifted uneasily from one bare foot to the next while everyone opened up their invitations. Everyone exclaimed with joy and of course agreed to come. They talked to him about what he did to the mansion and what they could bring as gifts. Hawke cornered him on a beer run to the bar, “You wrote those yourself? I am surprised you learned so fast. I mean, I know Anders was teaching you.”

“He is a very good teacher. Patient and gentle and encouraging. He is doing much better now that he has something to do and that he feels appreciated and part of the group again.” Fenris said.

Hawke worked with his servant, Orana, to provide food for the party. Beyond that, everyone showed up with wine for they knew that was what Fenris liked best. Anders could not afford wine, but he brought a small basket of apples, remembering that Fenris liked them. It was not the kind of party Isabela expected, but it was Fenris’ first. Dinner in the dining hall. A tour of the cleaned up place. Good alcohol to share. Great stories from Varric. These were his friends and Fenris was proud to be able to share this moment with them. It offered a small break from the growing tension in the city and with Meredith. They all avoided discussing that topic.

After the party, everyone headed home. Hawke offered to escort Anders home to ensure his safety since things were boiling badly between First Enchanter Orsino and Knight Commander Meredith. He didn’t want trouble. Fenris felt badly for all the responsibility on Hawke’s shoulders. “No, go home, my friend. You need the rest. Thank you for coming, but I will see Anders safely back to the clinic.” Hawke was grateful and left.

“Do you… want to maybe stay the night?” Fenris asked, feeling his stomach flip over and then be contaminated by fluttering bugs.

Anders blushed just a little and chewed his lip. “I… uhm… I should check on the clinic. But… maybe when things calm down out there. Ask me again.” He wanted to say yes so badly.

Fenris could see the open invitation… and Anders nervousness. Anders kept people at a distance so they would not be hurt by him… or the loss of him. Fenris knew what he was doing. He had his freedom now, and he had choice. This was his choice. But he could see Anders was not quite yet ready. They walked in almost shy silence to the clinic, carefully avoiding patrols.

Outside the clinic doors, Fenris pulled Anders to the nearby wall, pushing him up against it. Anders asked with wide eyes, if the elf heard danger. “No, I just want you to know something. Do with it as you choose.” He stepped in and pressed his lips to the mages.

Anders stilled in shock. A flood of the missing memories about Fenris came back in that rush. The hatred, the resolution of their animosity, the magical work Anders did to free Fenris, how Fenris had cared for him. Anders melted then, returning the kiss. Then gripped Fenris’ chest plate and turned things around, Fenris found himself up against the wall with the taller mage deepening their kiss.

They broke apart panting. Both suddenly intent on more than just kissing. They pressed against the door… and it swung open with ease. Both froze. “Maker, no…” gasped Anders. They turned to survey the clinic.

Tables were turned over. Sheets were torn. Healing kits were scattered and ruined. Someone had been searching the place and wrecking it from end to end. The crafting table was a mess of broken bottles and spoiled ingredients. Notebooks torn and thrown about. The private room had suffered the same as the clinic. Anders looked almost on the edge of tears with a hand over his mouth in disbelief. A knife had cut open even the mattress of his bed and shredded the pillow from his mother. The floorboard was broken and its contents also gone. All the vials and the Ancient Tevinter spellbook.

“Vanhedis! You are coming back to my place. Now, Anders.” Fenris grabbed the mage’s sleeve and steered him out. It was not safe to stay here.

They headed to Hawke as the sun started to rise. Hawke stood outside already, and was spitting mad. There was no time to discuss things. All the tension was coming to a head… now. The companions all gathered at the Gallows. Orsino and Meredith were yelling back and forth at one another. She accuses him of harboring bloodmages. He threatens to take the issues of her and her Templars abuses to Grand-Cleric Elthina. Fenris and Anders exchange a look. Then Anders interrupts. “Telling the Grand Cleric will not help anyone now! You have to…”

He never finished as the ground shook from a deep explosion underground that worked its way up with powerful magic, blasting fiery light into the sky. The destruction centered on the Chantry and spreading across parts of Kirkwall. Sebastian screams in anguish and falls to his knees, “ELTHINA!!!”

Anders world blurred to the nonsense of yelling and fighting around him. Meredith threatening the Right of Annulment. Anders being accused of the very act. He could not even deny it. It was his fault. He had planned it. He had lied to Hawke and gathered all the ingredients. And then… he had kept them. Did it matter that someone stole them and finished what he started? Did it matter who? Hawke’s sense of betrayal and hurt enraged the rogue to a point where he didn’t know where to stand on the matter, or what to do about Anders. Anders sank down onto a crate, numb, while the companions debated his fate behind him. He only asked for death in retribution of all those innocent lives of those who just died.

Hawke released him and firmly stated their friendship was over. Sebastian wanted Anders head so badly for the death of Elthina that he swore to Hawke that he would come back with such an army and hunt Anders down if he had to lay waste to the whole of Kirkwall. Sebastian stormed away, leaving the companions to the trouble of mages and Templars. They were no longer his problem. They could kill each other for all he cared right now.

Fenris met Anders eyes for a moment. Merrill had been the one to voice the words Fenris could not find voice for. “Let him help us. Give him the chance to atone for what he has done. We will need his help for this. Please Hawke.”

Hawke was still furious, but reluctantly agreed. “After that, you get out of my sight.”

Amid the fires of Kirkwall, battles raged in the very streets depending on what side people supported, mage or Templar. Inside the Gallows, the battle was like a small holocaust. Meredith had been corrupted by the red lyruim she had reforged into her sword and died a burning death in the end. Orsino had been secretly advocating bloodmagic and turned to it in the battle becoming an abomination, meeting his death as well.

Cullen was left standing as the most senior Templar to try to bring some measure of peace to those remaining. Anders had been healing the fallen while Hawke and Cullen and Aveline worked out some semblance of a peace accord. When everyone turned to look for Anders, he was gone.


	5. Corrupt Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall’s fall splits the group. Corruption goes to the top of the Chantry and the Templars. Fenris and Sebastian work together. Anders is taken.

Sebastian reached Starkhaven to claim his rightful place as prince and ruler to discover that once again his throne had been usurped. His steward had been executed for trying to refuse the Chantry. Sebastian found his rulership firmly in the grasp of the new grand-cleric of Starkhaven. And she called him an apostate for renouncing his vows. Apostate, not in the escaped mage sense, but in the sense that one has forsaken their beliefs. This was of course not true. He had a letter from Grand-Cleric Elthina absolving him of his vows so that he may take up his family duty. He was forced to retreat to some ruins like an exile.

In those ruins he found a Templar and two mages, one just a teen girl who tended his wounds. Her ability to perform magic hampered by the fact that the Templars of the circle that had been erected here had cut out her tongue. The Templar explained to Sebastian of the corruption they have encountered and how they were hoping to reach Kight-Captian Cullen in Kirkwall. But news of the fate of Kirkwall had spread swiftly and the Templar was afraid to travel now with his charges. Sebastian sat with them for a week learning of the terrible things he thought were only the ramblings of a mad possessed apostate. He never thought that Anders could have been right. He was so blinded by his faith.

He worked quietly to reach those loyal to him in the palace till he found an opportunity and lamented as he could see how Anders would have done what he did to the Chantry in Kirkwall, for he was planning no less here in Starkhaven for the sake of his people. And the slaughter here, turned out to be just as devastating. So many people, innocent people, caught in the crossfire of civil war between the Chantry and Sebastian. It did not right the wrong of Elthina’s death. She was not corrupt as this cleric had been. But perhaps she was as manipulated.

Circles all over Thedas rose in rebellion. The Chantry fought back with a staggering brutality and a level of cruelty through the Templars that shocked many. It brought the nations all over Thedas to the brink of war between mages and Templars. Sebastian enforced civil law in Starkhaven. The Chantry held no rule here.

He received a letter from Fenris of all people. It was written badly in his still shaky hand and the spelling needing a sore education. But Sebastian and he had been close friends and he knew Fenris was trying his best. It explained at length the details of Anders’ plans and the book he had kept hidden, that he never intended to act as the spirit had wanted him to. It explained the break-in to the clinic that had happened during the house warming party. It updated Sebastian of the splitting of the Champion’s companions and how Val Royeaux sent a swath of Templars to crack down. Hawke had taken his sister back to Fereldan to the safety of the Wardens. Isabela had escaped on ship with Merrill. Aveline stayed to fight for civil law and protection of the general populous of Kirkwall. A Seeker had interrogated Varric. And Anders… still could not be found. He asked for help. Help on behalf of himself to find Anders, who he thought might be captured by the Templars. And help for Aveline to restore safety here and perhaps shove some of the Templars out.

The messenger of all people was Cullen. “I ask for refuge for my trainees and our mage charges and a selection of clerics running from the corruption.”

Sebastian had to think. If he supported Aveline, it would be encouraging her to become Viscount. Was that such a bad idea? It could form a strong alliance. The Free Marches were meant to be FREE. The Marchers fought for their freedom fiercely and the Chantry was trying to take that away. Other cities in the Free Marches had risen up as Sebastian had.

“I will take an army and see if I can bring aid from the other cities. We will free Kirkwall. Here, a Templar had been seeking you. I have granted him this fort tower. Take your charges there. Leave a cleric, I wish to speak with her.” Sebastian had many plans and a short time to make them if he was going to be of any use to Kirkwall. He sent one of his swiftest rogues with a letter to Fenris stating that he was on his way.

He met with the cleric then and spoke at length about the factions in the various orders. She held a paper in her hands that she said she hoped could come to pass. She handed it to Sebastian. It was Anders Manifesto, incomplete. He almost crumpled it in the usual annoyance for the propaganda, but then decided to read it through. This was one written after Justice had been ripped from him. It was less propaganda and more journalistic musings of what Anders hoped and dreamed to one day see. Templars being trusted guardians, protecting mages from harm and distraction while mages worked their gifts to help people and work with them. That the deaths of mages be only to those who fall prey to demons or turn to bloodmagic for power over others. It laid out ways mages and non-mages could work together, suggesting ways mages could be teachers, healers, craftsmen. How they could enhance the engineering of structures and the production of various other things. Sebastian found he wanted to know more, but the document was unfinished. He bade her stay at the palace as his guest, that there was a small Chantry there that she may serve in if she wished. Sebastian still held strong to his faith in the Maker, even if he had now lost faith in the institution.

The next morning, Sebastian marched out with an army, just as he had threatened over a month ago, to hunt down Anders. But his reasons this time were far different. He met with Fenris in Kirkwall several days later. Half his army he loaned to Aveline to help her restore order and to free the city. The other half he ordered to remain out of the city until they were signalled, save a few that he kept with him. Sebastian remained a guest in Fenris’ mansion and together they worked on way to infiltrate the now heavily guarded Gallows. Fenris knew a way in from when he went with Hawke and Anders to stop Knight-Captain Alrik from torturing mages.

They stilled as a pounding was heard upon the door. It was the third time Templars came in the past as many days to search homes for hidden mages. Fenris usually managed to dissuade them by force. This one, when Fenris answered the door, forced his way in with a blanket wrapped bundle in his arms. “You are a friend of the Champion, are you not? Or… were?” The bundle squirmed and whimpered and he tried to shush it gently. A terribly bruised arm of a small child wriggled free to clutch the edge of armor.

Fenris slammed the door shut. Sebastian came and claimed the small child from the Templar who gave him up reluctantly. The child cried out for his daddy.

The Templar took a step forward and restrained himself. He removed his helm. “I did not sign on and swear vows for this… for what they are doing. I need to get out of here with my son.”

“And what gives you the idea that we would help you? We are hunting an apostate.” Fenris stated flatly.

The Templar watched as Sebastian unbundled the child and looked him over. Sebastian gasped, “Fenris… I am taking him upstairs and giving him a healing potion.” Sebastian ignored everyone from there and carried the crying child up to a room out of sight.

“Commander Aveline. I went to her first. She said she could not help because she was too high profile at the moment and told me to come here as discreetly as I could.”

“Tell me,” Fenris stepped closer, still looking dangerously close to deadly. “Did you come from the Gallows? Did you see a blond human mage, Anders. A healer apostate. The one accused of destroying the Chantry?”

“Yes,” the Templar nodded. “They took him into the Gallows bowels two weeks ago.” He winced. “They do… they torture them down there, shove them into isolation or make them tranquil, if they even survive.”

It was the first sure news Fenris had of Anders location. It wasn’t good news though, and Anders survival was slim under those conditions. “We will care for your son. You are to remove all weapons and armor and leave them in the box up on the main room upstairs. Then you may stay with the boy. Sebastian will make arrangements with Varric to get you and your son to Knight Commander Cullen in Starkhaven.” He escorted the Templar and made sure he followed the instructions.

When the man entered the room where Sebastian was bathing the boy, the Templar’s hands flew to his mouth in shock at what he saw. He had grabbed up his son from a cell all wrapped in blankets and had not taken the time to note his injuries. “Maker…” He turned away unable to look more. The boy’s legs were badly broken; he would be crippled for life. Evidence that the boy might have been sexually violated horrified the Templar. “He’s only five years old…” Fenris took over for Sebastian, as Sebastian was better at dealing with people.

The prince guided the Templar from the room and sat him down with a stiff drink. He became a brother counselor once again to calm the traumatized man. When the man was calm, Sebastian returned to the room to help Fenris finish with the boy, who was well asleep from a sleep draught. “This is not the will of the Maker, Fenris.”

“No, this is the will of people drunk on their own power to control others. It is no different in Tevinter with the magisters in power over their slaves. This boy needs a real healer. I think he’ll live, but I doubt he will ever walk.” They let the Templar in after the boy was fed several healing potions, his legs splinted as best they could and then bundled again in clean blankets. The Templar sat on the bed with the small child in his arms, heartbroken. He had thought he was doing the right thing by bringing his mage-born son to the Circle. Sebastian advised him that there would be several Starkhaven guards downstairs. He was not to leave the room. He didn’t think the man would leave. And the guards would ensure no one came in.

There was no more time to waste. Anders was in graver danger than Fenris had thought. Sebastian chose those of his guards who could be stealthy to accompany them. They headed into Lowtown to meet with Varric and have a quiet talk with him about their new guests, and to make sure Varric was alright after his ordeal with the Seeker. The news of corruption through the orders seemed to go all the way to the very tops. The Divine was having trouble finding the corruption within the highest of her ranks and Seekers. One Seeker had even conspired to assassinate all the First Enchanters when they had a meeting to try to find a peaceful resolution to the brewing war. It was why the Seeker was looking for Hawke and questioned Varric on his whereabouts. Leliana was sent to try to find the Hero of Fereldan for much the same reason. To help bring an end to the war before it tore Thedas apart. As it was, it was about to render it weak to invasions from either the Qunari or Tevinter. Varric promised to find a way to smuggle out the guests, but would want to wait to see if Anders could be found first, one smuggling trip was easier to plan than several.

From the Hanged Man, Sebastian and Fenris traveled to Darktown. It was a battle zone there between the Coterie and other gangs, slavers, and Templars. At an opportune moment, Fenris lead his small party down a shaft that Anders had shown him. It led through tunnels into the underneath of the Gallows. Their first excursion into the bowels of the Gallows turned up a number of horrors, but no Anders. They repeated this search every night. They fought Templars and had them dragged out and sunk into the sewage. They found one mage woman alive, but barely. She had no news of Anders and expired before they could get a healing potion into her. There were several Tranquil that they encountered, abused like slaves who could not feel or understand the reasons. Those, Fenris put out of their misery.

“I found him!” called one of the guards who was opening small metal doors of isolation chambers that were no larger than coffins. They were probbly once incineration chambers for when the Gallows was a slave prison. They had pulled out a number of people, all dead. Anders’ body had voided itself sometime yesterday by the smell. His wounds festering. The guard pulled the limp body to the floor, “Ser Fenris… I’m… sorry.”

Sebastian and Fenris came over. Sebastian remarked at the older evidence of torture upon Anders body that joined the new evidence, ashamed, “He has been through this before… I… I didn’t believe him. Oh man, Anders. I am so sorry. I wish I had believed. Elthina bade me open my heart and be more compassionate.”

Fenris knelt down. He had hoped beyond hope. He had kissed this man, this mage. He had risked so much of his own former beliefs. Why must everything be torn away from him? It was things like this that made him disbelieve in Sebastian’s loving Maker.

As Fenris turned Anders’ body over to wrap it, planning to at least give him a proper funeral under the open sky, Anders eyes flew open. Fenris jumped back, and then sprang forward to press a hand to Anders’ chest. A heart fluttered under his fingers.

“Anders,” Fenris tried to get the mage’s attention. “Anders.” He was like a gaunt corpse, barely alive, half dead, lips parched and cracked and bleeding. Yellow patches stained the skin around his mouth and throat and the whites of his eyes like some kind of poison in him. His expression held the same blankness as the Tranquil. Fenris heard the guards put a couple more Tranquil to rest with Sebastian’s prayers for the passing. Fenris knew this could not be Tranquility, there was no sunburst burned onto Anders’ brow. It had to be shock, deep shock and trauma from whatever the Templars had done to him. For how long? Two weeks? A month?

Fenris brought a canteen of water to Anders’ lips. After some choking and coughing, Anders swallowed with desperation, trying to get more as the canteen was drawn away. Sebastian handed Fenris an open healing potion. “How, by the Maker, how is he still alive?”

“Warden stamina and endurance,” answered Fenris. “I am sure that offered them no end of curious experimentation.” He practical spat the last words and Sebastian whispered a pleading prayer out of stunned disbelief. No, no longer disbelief. These few days rummaging through the dead and dying remnants of Templar “fun” solidified his understanding of the corruption that Anders had been trying so hard to convince them of. Fenris brought the bottle to Anders mouth and followed it with more water. Soon Anders eyes slid shut again, drifting back into dark oblivion.

Someone handed Fenris a cloak to wrap Anders in. They could fight off the manacles later; Anders needed to be somewhere safe as soon as possible. Fenris lifted the mage into his arms, mildly encumbered by Anders’ height and definitely disturbed that Anders weighed less than his great sword. They snuck their way back to his mansion. Fenris called his Templar guest to tell him what Anders would have been poisoned with and how to cure him.

The Templar studied Anders face and opened each eye. “Magebane, and a great deal of it. He is well poisoned. It is amazing he lives. Flush it from his system with as much water as you can. There is no cure but time. It might be a few days, maybe a week before it is out of his system. Magebane cuts a mage from their mana pool so they cannot cast. It is used when Templars were not skilled enough to cast a decent smite or if you need to keep a mage from doing magic longer than a smite can last.”

There Sebastian parted ways temporarily with Fenris to inform Aveline and his men out of town that the Gallows were cleared of mage prisoners. Kirkwall would be stormed by morning. No Templar would remain alive or within the city before the following nightfall. It was time the city was free once more with someone reliable in charge, someone with the people in mind. Those common folks already intended to vote Aveline in as Viscount.

Aveline sent Donnic with the Guard’s own medic to help with Anders. The medic washed Anders down thoroughly, administered healing potions. Anders woke when the medic started to lance the festering wounds and cleanse them. He remained as unresponsive then as he was the first time he opened his eyes. When the medic set the broken knee and splinted it, there Anders flinched and passed out.

Sebastian’s army within the city with Aveline and outside it, acted like the medic lancing out the festering corruption. Corruption that Sebastian now understood permeated Chantry and Templars alike. Freedom and choice would only be gained through a hard battle and even harder healing.


	6. Freedom and Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no chains. There is no Justice. There is Transfigurations 1 & 12\. There is Freedom... And there is Choice.

O Maker, hear my cry:   
Guide me through the blackest nights   
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked   
Make me to rest in the warmest places.   
  
O Creator, see me kneel:   
For I walk only where You would bid me   
Stand only in places You have blessed   
Sing only the words You place in my throat   
  
My Maker, know my heart   
Take from me a life of sorrow   
Lift me from a world of pain   
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride   
  
My Creator, judge me whole:   
Find me well within Your grace   
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed   
Tell me I have sung to Your approval   
  
O Maker, hear my cry:   
Seat me by Your side in death   
Make me one within Your glory   
And let the world once more see Your favor   
  
For You are the fire at the heart of the world   
And comfort is only Yours to give.

_-Transfigurations 12:1-12:6_

 

Thus were the prayers of Sebastian while the ship sailed from Kirkwall around the coast of the Free Marches and then along the meandering Minanter River. Anders fevered and did not seem to be recovering. His wounds too terrible. The small boy too had trouble with swelling in the bones of his crippled legs. They stopped over in Ansburg where news was exchanged with the Wardens and their mage healer came to tend Anders and the boy. While the boy healed well under her skilled magic, he would remain crippled as they suspected. His father, the Templar did not care. His boy was safe and alive and would be given a place to grow up free yet with guidance and protection. The boy’s behavior brought a smile to almost everyone. “I want to be a mage and a healer and a archer and a knight!”

The healer laughed, “All that? Why not start with mage first. Study hard, and learn good control, then maybe your father could teach you to use a sword.” The healer then met with the boy’s father. “He’ll not walk again, not properly. Maybe with crutches, or braces, but I would wait till he is full grown before spending the funds to make leg braces for him, or you’ll be shelling out every time he grows a few inches.”

She came to treat Anders next. “I will inform the First Warden of his state. If he ever becomes coherent, let him know that the First Warden understands what happened at Ameranthine and holds him at no fault. If he recovers, perhaps he could train Wardens in healing both physical and magical as his way to serve as a Warden. We have kept tabs on him as best we could. But we lost all contact when Kirkwall fell to flames with the destruction of the Chantry.” Fenris agreed to pass the word along when Anders recovered. He refused to accept the term IF. The healer mended the wounds, and healed the fever. She tisked at the knee. Anders too would need a brace for that knee. “That is twice those blasted Templars have done this to him, now.” She explained after that he was definitely not made Tranquil and yes, the magebane was clear of his system. However, due to the trauma he has suffered, it might be a long time before he would engage with the outside world, if ever. “You could leave him here and we could---”

“No!” Fenris stated firmly. “I am taking him to Starkhaven. He stays with me.” He stepped between her and Anders like a fiercely protective dog ready to bite.

She stepped back recognizing the danger she could be in if she tried to take Anders. “Alright. He will need constant care and great patience. I wish you luck. If at any time you need our help, just send word.”

The ship continued along the Minanter River to Starkhaven. There were no more chains, but Anders seemed still locked away. Fenris rubbed healing salve into the places he had been advised to. Anders was like a damaged doll, indifferent to the elf moving him or touching him. He merely stared with his face turned towards the wall of their cabin, tracing the wood grain with a finger. At least he ate and drank and relieved himself with little prompting.

One evening, while he traced the wood grain again, Fenris gently turned him to face him. Anders dropped his head to stare down at his hands. Fenris undid the tangled tie in Anders hair and combed his fingers through the strands to untangle them. As he tied a neater tail, Anders formed a bit of lightening in his hands. “I would appreciate if you did not electrocute me for tying back your hair,” Fenris said without being remotely concerned of any danger the mage might pose. He knew he could resist most magic thrown at him at will due to the lyrium within him. Anders closed his hands and the lightening vanished. Fenris lifted Anders’ chin and looked into his eyes. They remained blank and expressionless. “I found you, and yet I feel like I am still searching for you.” When he let go of Anders’ chin, the mage looked back down again.

There was no Justice. He was certain now, more than ever before that the spirit was truly gone. There were no traces of the spirit. And seeing Anders like this was no justice either. “I owe you my life… and my freedom. I will help you find yours.” He had never forgotten that kiss they shared. And it had been shared with unexpected and pleasantly surprising equal ferocity. He wondered if they will ever get to that point again. To that point of freedom… and of choice.

At Sebastian’s palace, Fenris had been granted a guest suite in exchange for helping train the palace guards. In that suite, Anders could stay as well, under Fenris’ watchful eye and near constant care.

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,  
From the lowest slaves  
To the highest kings.  
Those who bring harm  
Without provocation to the least of His children  
Are hated and accursed by the Maker.

_-Transfigurations 1: 8-9_

This was the new motto of Starkhaven. It is from this verse of the Chant that Sebastian made his laws of equality for all, mageborn or not. Knight-Commander Cullen became the leader of the Brotherhood Templar Guardians, free of the control of the Chantry.

The suite was comfortable and Fenris was grateful for it. It provided privacy, peace and quiet, and no interference, allowing him as much time as he could have to give Anders what he might need to recover. They shared a bedroom. There was a large bed that Fenris gave to Anders and a smaller one that he took for himself. They had a private bathroom with dwarven plumbing. They had a decent sized lounge room with a breakfast table, several plush chairs, a desk and set of bookshelves and access to a wide balcony overlooking the gardens. In these rooms, Fenris did everything he could to care for and reach through to Anders. He practiced his reading and writing, reading such things as Varric’s tales out loud. The most he had achieved with Anders was relative self-care. Anders would eat, bathe, tend to personal needs, dress… when told.

So it surprised the Void out of Fenris to encounter Anders in the hallway when Fenris was returning from a morning training session with the guards. Anders had dressed himself without Fenris having set things out for him. And yet he stood barefoot on the chilly stone floor before Fenris, eyes downcast as usual. “Anders, you forgot your socks. Your feet will get cold,” Fenris indicated. Anders frowned and pointed down at Fenris’ own bare feet. “Hrm… point taken. I suppose I should not chastise you for something I myself do. Why are you out here?”

In the very barest whisper, Anders asked, “Can I have some tea?”

For a moment Fenris could not believe he heard what he heard. He thought after almost two months that he would never hear Anders speak. Two months. It was hardly a whisper. He needed to hear it again. “Anders, look at me and ask me again louder, I don’t think I heard you.”

Anders had to shift his weight to his good leg. Looking up into someone’s face distressed him greatly. Fenris surmised that the Templars beat him every time he did. The minute dragged as Anders struggled internally till his eyes met Fenris’ and held them for maybe three whole seconds. Then he bolted back to their room as best as his limp could carry him. Fenris rolled his eyes and sighed. Still, this was a great breakthrough. There were more similar breakthrough with each day following.

Fenris undressed from an especially challenging training session. He hissed as he removed his shirt. Pale hands reached over and helped. Fenris turned to find still downcast eyes. But those pale hands glowed a gentle green and healed his aches for the first time. Fenris held very still. When he was done, Anders traced the lyrium lines of Fenris’ arm as he had traced wood grains and other things over the months. Fenris held his breath as Anders raised his hand and traced the lyrium lines on his chin.

Amber eyes met moss green. “Fenris.”

Fenris slowly smiled, “Mage… Anders.” Recognition… The first step to freedom from the chains of Anders’ mind.

“Thank you for waiting for me, for… believing in me…. For… not leaving me.” Whispers grew stronger with the reassurance of reality and safety. Anders smiled.

“We’re both free now. It was my choice to stay. And if you choose, you will never be alone. I will stay with you to the end,” promised Fenris. “Freedom… and choice, my friend.”

“Only if I can have a cat.”

Fenris laughed deep and loud.

 


End file.
